


The Simple Things

by Sam_Eller



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brothers, Family, Hurt/Comfort, John Winchester - Freeform, Mary Winchester - Freeform, One Shot Collection, Pre-Series, Teenchesters, Weechesters, sam and dean - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 00:55:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9410459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam_Eller/pseuds/Sam_Eller
Summary: Sometimes it is the simple things that mean the most, and the little things that speak the loudest. On occasion, something as menial as a shopping trip, has the power to display the strength and depth of a brotherhood.





	1. Chapter 1

Note: This is essentially going to be a collection of one-shots about Winchester shopping trips, that will take place at different times. I already know what most of them will be about, lots of hurt/comfort and fluff ;) Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Mary knew this was a bad idea.

Shopping was enough work without bringing two kids along.

She should have waited until John got home, which she would have done if that man ever got his ass in the front door before sunset. All week she tried to get to the store, but by the time her workaholic husband came home, it was time to put the kids to bed, and Mary couldn't bear to leave her boys at night. She knew that John would protect them, she knew he would give his life for each of them in a second, but there were some things he didn't know how to protect them from. There were some things - the things that went bump in the night - that only she could protect her boys from, all three of them.

So, Mary bit the bullet and brought her two boys out shopping with her right after naptime. She loved her sons, but the trip was no picnic. Her four-year-old kept running ahead and refused to stand still even for a moment; while little Sammy was fussing and crying. Her baby was born with a sweet nature and was anything but difficult, but the poor thing had an ear infection, which had kept him up most of the night and disrupted the majority of his naptime.

"Dean! Honey, please hold onto the cart." Mary instructed, bouncing the five-month-old fussing in her arms, as she maneuvered the cart through the aisles, all the while trying to keep an eye on her wandering toddler.

"But, Mom—

"Don't you 'but, Mom' me, young man. You put your hand on the cart right now."

Even after her stern command, Mary couldn't help but quirk a smile at the long suffering sigh her four-year-old released. Dean was always making her smile, even when he wasn't trying to. The young boy did as he was told, just as his mother knew he would. He was a little jokester, and that smile of his was mischievous, but even at his young age, Dean was almost always obedient.

"It's Batman." He declared, his bright green eyes shining up at her as he pointed toward the shirt he had spotted.

"Yes, sweetheart, I see it."

"Can I try in on, Mommy? Please?" Dean begged.

"We are supposed to be shopping for Sam, you have enough clothes."

It was true. The kid had plenty of shirts, he certainly didn't need another one, but the look he gave her, it was too damn much. Those pleading eyes and the round, hopeful, freckled face; there was no way in hell Mary could say no, not even if she wanted to.

"Fine, you can try it on, but that means you have to try on some pants for me too. No complaining." Mary bargained, as she released the cart long enough to reach out and pull the size five shirt off its hanger. Damn, the kid was growing like a weed.

"Okay!" Dean agreed, reaching out for his prize with a wide grin.

"Leave it in the cart, please. I don't want it getting lost." Mary advised, knowing how her son would react if the shirt was misplaced; and the young mother only had the patience for one crying child at a time.

"Fiine." The four-year old whined, allowing the Batman clothing to be tossed into the cart.

"Shh, it's okay, Sammy. You're alright, sweetheart." She cooed, bouncing the child on her hip.

Her heart broke for the poor kid. He wasn't even half a year old yet and he seemed to always have some sort of ailment. The doctors said that was common with preemies, especially ones that came two months ahead of schedule.

God, she had been so scared. She had been so terrified when she started having contractions, calling John at work in pure panic, because it was too soon. Way too damn soon. John had been so calm and so strong. He had rushed home, loading her and Dean into the Impala with a firm, comforting grip. Mary had never needed her husband's strength more than she did that day. She had been so freakin afraid of losing her baby, but John had soothed her fear with just his presence.

Mary smiled to herself as she thought of her small family, and how much she loved them. Her lips fell into a frown as Sam's head dropped onto her shoulder, and the child whimpered miserably. It was so unfair, he was such a good little boy, so soft and gentle. Even in his misery, he was still so sweet. He didn't scream, he fussed, but even that was done quietly. He was in pain and so sick, but his crying was still so soft, more like muted whimpers. He was so incredibly good-natured and precious, and yet the poor boy was always suffering.

Mary's heart broke for her little Sammy.

"Mommy, I think Sam needs me now."

And Dean's heart broke for his little brother as well.

Mary could see as much when her oldest looked up at her with those beseeching eyes, his arms up and reaching for his little brother. Because if anyone hated Sam's distress more than Mary did, it was Dean.

As silent as the child's anguish was, his older brother was never okay with it. Dean found it entirely unacceptable that Sam was ever upset. Luckily, Mary's youngest had such a peaceful disposition, because if he had been one of those vocal babies, Dean would have started a riot.

"Mom." Her eldest urged impatiently, his arms still reaching up,

"Okay, honey, but you need to sit in the cart if you are going to hold Sam."

Dean hated sitting in the cart, he had never liked being confined. He was too active for that, which was why it was such a struggle for Mary to make sure the kid at least held onto her hand or the cart when they went out. However, it didn't surprise the young mother in the least, when her little adventurer immediately turned toward the cart and grabbed on to it. Dean was more than willing to submit to the confines of the cart, if it was for his little brother's sake.

Mary reached down and helped the four-year-old up into the cart, being sure he was seated on his bum, before placing Sam in his arms.

"Shh. It's okay, Sammy. I gotcha." Dean soothed, effectively hushing the baby.

Mary would be lying if she didn't admit to the fact that - on occasion - she was a little bit jealous of her eldest son, as crazy as that was. Dean had a way with Sam, a way that neither of the baby's parents possessed, a way that hadn't be taught or learned, it was just natural.

It was special.

Mary pushed the cart through the store, collecting items, and listening to Dean chatting a way to his baby brother. There was not one person her four-year-old enjoyed talking to, more than Sammy.

She placed a couple pairs of jeans in the cart, next to her boys.

"I thought we were just getting clothes for Sammy?" Dean questioned, looking up at Mary as a pair of tiny hands grabbed at his finger.

"We are. But I'm getting you some more pants. You go through pants faster than Sam goes through diapers." Mary commented, laughing at the way Dean's face screwed up at the mention of those smelly objects, the ones he did his best to avoid. Like father like son.

It was true though, the rambunctious little boy was always getting rips and stains in his jeans.

"How about that one, for Sammy?" Dean suggested, pointing to a shirt with a dog on it.

"That one isn't going to work, honey."

"Why not? Sammy loves puppies!"

That was also true, the five-month-old had squealed in delight when he had first spotted their neighbours dog.

"It's too big. That is for six to nine months. Sam is zero to three months."

"But he's five months old, Mom." Dean said gently, as though he were concerned Mary had forgotten just how old her youngest was.

She was surprised that Dean knew Sam's specific age, but she probably shouldn't have been. Her eldest knew everything about his little brother. Everything from his nap schedule, to his favourite toy.

"I know, sweetheart. But Sam's small for his age."

Dean huffed, he clearly wasn't happy about that fact.

"You need to eat more food, Sammy. Then you can get bigger like me and you won't be so tiny." The older boy stated in all seriousness, looking down at the baby nibbling on his fingers, his tone thick with concern.

"He'll grow, Dean. Don't you worry." Mary assured the worried four-year-old.

Dean sighed, as though the stress of his little brother's size was simply more than he could bear.

Mary laughed softly at her son's reaction.

By the time they made their way to the fitting room, Dean had his sick little brother giggling. Mary had no desire to separate the content pair, but she did not want to return the next day to make a bunch of returns if the clothes didn't fit.

"Dean, I'll take Sammy. I need you to go into this room and try on these pants, for Mommy, please." Mary instructed, reaching out and scooping Sam up with one arm, and lifting Dean out of the cart with her other.

"Here, take these in there and try them on." She said, placing Dean on the floor and putting the pairs of jeans in his hands, as she nodded toward the open dressing room next to them.

"And Batman?" Dean asked, nearly hopping in place, with excitement.

"And Batman." Mary added, reaching back into the cart to grab the sacred shirt.

Dean grinned and accepted the treasure, before marching into the change room.

"Come out and show me, so I know that they fit. And don't worry about the buttons, darling, I'll do them up."

"Kay." Dean called out, closing the door.

Sam didn't like that.

The second there was a solid barrier between the two brothers, Mary's youngest immediately began to fuss.

"It's okay, honey." She consoled distractedly, as she one-handedly attempted to sort through the clothes tossed into the cart. The words did nothing to soothe the child, who began to whimper. Nothing Mary did calmed the baby, the whimpering turned to crying, which quickly morphed into hiccupping sobs.

"Sweetheart. You're okay. You're okay, baby boy." Mary promised softly, glancing at her watch and realizing it was nearly time for his eardrops, which were at home.

The young mother sighed tiredly, bouncing Sam on her hip as she searched through the clothing. The movement was normally something that worked, but not now, not when he was feeling so miserable, and in pain.

Mary dug the pacifier out of her purse, but Sam just spat it out.

"What's the matter with, Sammy?" Dean questioned, appearing from out of the fitting room sporting a new pair of jeans, his expression pinched in concern.

"His ear is hurting him."

Dean nodded with a frown, making it clear he understood, but he was not okay with it.

"How are those fitting?" Mary asked, bending down and lifting Dean's shirt up so she could see the waistband. She couldn't do the button with one hand, though she did try, so she simply tugged the two sides together and made sure there was a sufficient amount of room left.

"Alright, those will do. Scooch back in there quick and try on the other pair. Okay sweetie? We've got to get Sammy home and give him his medicine."

Dean nodded earnestly, before moving back into the room.

Once the door closed again, Sam let out an anguished wail.

No amount of rocking or sweet words were enough to appease the youngster, and Mary knew of only one cure for her baby's sorrow.

"Dean, sweetheart, can Sammy please come in there with you?" She asked knocking gently on the door.

Dean opened it immediately, half dressed, with his arms out ready to accept his baby brother.

"I'm just going to put him down here on the floor." Mary narrated, grabbing Sam's blankie from out of her purse and laying it out on the ground, setting the youngster down on top of it.

"Thank you honey. Be quick, okay?" She instructed, trying not to be shocked with how quickly her youngest settled.

"I will." Dean stated, as he smiled down at his little brother.

Mary closed the door, trying not to feel like she was failing at something. What did it say about her as a mother when her toddler was better with her five-month-old than she was?

But as Mary stood outside the door, organizing the clothing in the cart and calculating the price, she heard Dean speaking.

"How do you like this, Sammy? It looks pretty awesome, huh? Batman is the best. I like him a lot. But not as much as you or Mommy or Daddy. But still a lot. Like almost as much as the Impala. I wish you could have a Batman shirt too, Sammy. But don't worry, you can wear this one when you get bigger. I'll share it with you."

The four-year-old nattered away, and Mary could hear the delighted noises Sam made in response to his big brother.

It was than that she realized that she wasn't failing because she couldn't do it all, she was simply blessed with two little boys who adored each other more than anything else in the world.

Once Mary finally got her two sons loaded back in the cart and they were waiting in line, she noticed that even though Sam was overdue for his medicine, he seemed completely content in his big brother's arms.

Mary marvelled at Dean's ability to soothe her youngest. She had originally thought that maybe he held Sam in a special way, she used to study the way Dean cradled the child, and tried to mimic it, but it made no difference. Her eldest wasn't using a specific method, there was just something about him that calmed Sam. Her boys simply had a connection. She didn't understand it. She had no siblings of her own, nor did John, neither of them had any idea about the sibling connection, but she had never thought it to be such a powerful thing. Dean had a way with Sam, he could settle the baby in a heartbeat. Sam had a way with his big brother as well, even at just five-months-old, nobody made Dean smile like Sammy did. No one calmed the four-year-old better than Mary's youngest, either. Anytime Dean was upset, all his mother had to do was place Sam in the toddler's arms, and he was instantly mollified.

No, Mary never knew that the bond between siblings, the bond between brothers, could be so strong. She didn't know if it was normal, or maybe her boys were closer than most, but she did hope – with all her heart – that they would never drift apart or lose the powerful, affectionate bond they shared. She had felt alone for so much of her life, and she knew that John had felt the same way; that was one of the reasons they had always intended on having more than one child. She hoped that Sam and Dean would never have to feel alone, that they would always have each other.

"You're such a good big brother, Dean. I'm so proud of you." Mary praised, sliding a hand lovingly through the soft blonde hair.

"Thanks Mommy. Sammy is a good little brother too." Her freckled child declared, beaming up at her.

"He is. He loves you so much, sweetheart." She exclaimed softly, smiling at her boys.

"And I love him." Dean proclaimed, grinning down at the baby held securely in his grip. Mary followed the green gaze, her own smile widening at the sight of two little dimples and the wide hazel eyes staring up at his big brother.

Her entire life she had never dared to dream of being this happy.

Of being married to a man that loved her so completely, a man who would give his life for his family.

Of being a mother to a freckle-faced angel, or the sweetest dimpled baby-boy on the planet.

She had never imagined she would be raising two sons who shared the most amazing bond she had ever seen.

Her life was everything she had ever wanted, and she wanted to giver her boys everything she possible could.

A safe home.

A happy childhood.

A life of joy and normalcy.

She wanted her two precious babies to have it all,

Though, it was becoming clear, that all those two really needed, was each other.

* * *

Note: I know that it is shorter than most of my fics, but it was fun to write and I thought some of you might enjoy it! Please comment/review and tell me what you think. Thanks for reading! - Sam


	2. Chapter 2

Heather had noticed them the moment they walked in, the bell above the door announcing their entrance to the thrift store.

She couldn't be certain what specifically caught her eye; whether it was the rugged looking man sporting a leather jacket and work boots, the little floppy-haired toddler squirming in his arms, or the young freckle-faced boy standing at his side.

Either way, she noticed the small family as soon as they arrived.

Heather watched as they made their way over to the shoe section, she could hear the youngest child request to be put down, and watched as the father reluctantly obliged. She observed as the older boy – Freckles, she entitled him in her head – immediately, without being asked, reached out and grabbed the toddler's hand. She expected the little munchkin to fight it, he seemed like the type and had been squirming restlessly in his father's arms since she spotted them. To Heather's surprise the shaggy-haired kid did nothing but wrap his tiny fingers around his brother's and grin up at him, revealing a pair of adorable dimples.

The woman couldn't help but smile at the simple interaction. She had three children of her own, and though they were grown now, she found herself easily reminded of the days when they had been little kids. Dimples - who couldn't have been more than three or four years of age - chattered non-stop to his brother as the older boy lead him along the rows of shoes, tagging closely behind the older man who was searching for something. Heather could tell very clearly that Freckles had more patience for the toddler than the father – Scruff, she mentally labeled him - did, the boy slowed his steps so his younger brother could keep up, and listened intently, nodding along to the nattering. Heather held no judgement against the older man, she knew how exhausting children could be and the father was emitting a level of weariness she rarely saw in such young parents. Upon further observation, she quickly began to form an idea as to one of the reasons Scruff seemed so down.

The wardrobes that the three males were sporting, spoke volumes. Scruff's jeans were littered with holes and stains and the shirt peeking out beneath his jacket was no better. Freckles had pants on that didn't quite make it to his ankles, and shoes that looked to be worn right through, he jean jacket was also too short in the sleeves. Dimples appeared to have the opposite problem of his brother, his clothing draped off his small frame; his jeans were rolled up to keep them from dragging on the ground, his shoes seemed to flop about in a way that Heather knew to mean they were too large for the boy, and his fall jacket hung down nearly to his knees. Yes, their clothing made it clear that money was an issue for the family of three, if their presence in the small-town thrift store hadn't already suggested such a fact.

Heather watched as the dad picked a pair of winter boots off the shelves. He had the boys sit side-by-side on the stool and knelt in front of them, helping Freckles try them on. She saw him pressing his thumb against the edge of the footwear, an age-old trick parents used to be sure no toes were pressing against the end. The older woman couldn't hear a word, but she didn't fail to notice how the youngest child's mouth never stopped moving, as he stared with wide eyes down at his brother's feet, smiling up at the older boy once the red boots were fastened in place. Freckles did not appear quite as happy, he would nod after Scruff's lips moved, appearing to answer his inquiries, but his vibrant green eyes kept sliding over to his right where Dimples was seated, swinging his legs back and forth. The child appeared to be displeased with getting new boots, his expression nothing but mournful every time he glanced at the shaggy-headed toddler. Heather couldn't seem to figure out why, perhaps the little boy was irritating the older one, but that wouldn't explain why Freckles looked to be so damn upset. It wasn't until she saw those green eyes dart down to the too-big sneakers on his little brother's swinging feet, that she realized perhaps he was feeling guilty that he alone appeared to be receiving new boots, new-ish boots anyways.

Heather shook her head at herself, because no child – especially not one who couldn't have been much older than eight or nine – was that intuitive. Besides, Dimples didn't appear to be put off the least by his brother's new footwear, if anything, he seemed excited about the lightly-used red boots.

The older lady reluctantly turned away, taking clothes from a woman who was finished in the change room, she did her best to be polite and patient, even though she wanted to speed through the encounter and return her attention to the unique little family.

Once she had completed her duties for the moment, Heather returned her gaze out to the floor, finding the trio had migrated over to the boys clothing section. Freckles still had a firm hold of Dimples' hand, as they trotted after their father. The toddler was still chatting, and his older brother was still nodding along, appearing to speak on occasion, but being an attentive listener more than anything. The thrift store employee was impressed by Freckles, her children still didn't listen as well as he seemed to, and they were grown adults now.

The three boys had a bit of a pattern. Scruff would walk down the clothing aisle, occasionally stopping and pulling a shirt or pants off the rack, he would turn to show it to Freckles, who would either nod or shake his head. His father would hold onto the items that passed the test, and return the ones that did not. The toddler would cling to his brother's hand as he marched beside him, chatting a way the entire time, occasionally pointing out items along the way. The older boy didn't speak nearly as much as the younger, but on the occasion that he had a comment to make, Dimples would focus in on every word.

Heather found herself craning her neck to continue to watch the boys from her position at the back of the store by the dressing rooms. She was usually up at front on cash, but her hip had been bothering her lately and she had requested to be stationed in the fitting rooms for the day, so that she would be able to sit for some of the time. She was itching for retirement, and in a year, she would have enough saved to finally move to Florida and live in one of those old-age communities like she has always wanted to. The older lady's original plan was to have stopped working nearly five years ago, but things had come up, as they often did. At sixty-two she was still a working woman. She sighed to herself, but forced her mind to be more positive, she only had eleven months left until she'd be able to leave this menial job and the godawful Minnesota winters. Speaking of Winter, those boys didn't look to be dressed warm enough for the December weather. It wasn't snowing yet, but the chill in the air was becoming more biting by the day. Perhaps that was why the three boys had come out shopping this evening, to prepare for the rapidly approaching cold front.

Confirming Heather's assumptions, the family made their way over to the winter-wear section of the store, which was – unfortunately – completely out of her sightline. She sighed, resigning herself to return her attention to the work she had been neglecting. She sat at the back of the store, diligently hanging the many pairs of recently-donated pants. She was nearly finished when the small family rounded the corner and appeared before her.

She had been able to see the three of them rather clearly when they had been in the shoe department, as it was located just a few feet away from the fitting rooms. She had spotted the toddler's dimples, the child's green eyes, and the older man's facial scruff. What she hadn't noticed from the short distance, was the dark bags of exhaustion beneath the father's eyes, and the lines that patterned his face, and made Heather re-think her assumption of his young age. She noticed up-close that Freckles had a worry line between his eyes, something she had never seen on a child so young before. She noticed that Dimples had big, soft, hazel eyes that peaked out from behind his hair, and though she had watched him chat non-stop to his older brother, he was silent now. The toddler was hiding behind the older boy, still holding onto his hand. Freckles stood firmly in front of the youngster, his eyes travelling around their surroundings before landing back on Heather.

"Trying some things on?" She questioned, smiling at the boys before looking up at their father and nodding towards the clothing draped over his arm.

He nodded, smiling politely.

As rugged as Scruff was, he had an attractive quality about him that reminded the older woman a little of her late husband.

"How many rooms will you be needing?" Because sometimes the family went together and sometimes the kids wanted their space.

"Just one." Scruff replied.

Heather nodded, assuming as much. The man's two sons certainly didn't seem to have a problem sticking together.

She grabbed one of the door-hangers from the shelf next to her, and escorted the family down the hall to the first room available. The man gave her a nod of appreciation as she opened the door and hung a sign on the nob.

"Just holler if you need anything." She recited.

Receiving another nod in return.

Heather made her way back to her chair, where she could sit and watch the family in comfort. She inwardly rolled her eyes at her own nosy behaviour, but couldn't resist keeping watch of the trio down the hall as she continued with her task of hanging pants.

The father disappeared inside the change-room for a moment, presumably discarding the clothing as he returned empty-handed, aside from a small winter jacket that hung over his forearm.

"Alright, Dean, you go try those on. Let me see them so I know how they fit." He instructed, taking a seat on the bench in the hall and nodding to the room.

Freckles, or Dean, nodded obediently and made to move inside, his little brother – who was still clinging to his hand – followed close behind.

"C'mere, Sam. Sit by me."

Dimples, or rather, Sam, did not appear the least big pleased with the request. His big eyes glancing between his father and his big brother.

Dean was no more impressed than the toddler.

"But he always comes in with me." He stated.

It was the first thing that Heather had really heard the boy say, she had seen him respond to his little brother as they had been wondering about the store, but she had yet to hear him really speak, both because they had often been to far away and due to the fact her hearing was not what it used to be. He had a husky little voice, it was sweet and the sound of it made her smile.

"That's when we're all trying stuff on. It's just you today. I can watch Sammy just fine out here, buddy." Scruff explained, his tone surprisingly soft.

Dean looked conflicted as he stared at his father. It wasn't fear, the woman could tell that neither boy appeared afraid of the older man, but there was some other reason the child was unsettled by the idea of leaving his little brother. Heather had witnessed her own son exhibit the older boy's current behaviour, the wary gaze, crinkled brow, uncertain shuffling of the feet. Jeremy had been the same way one Christmas morning, back when he was just a kid. He had received a little toy car from Santa – who had been on a strict budget that year – which quickly became his most prized possession. His mother had requested to see it, putting her hand out expectantly, because her oldest boy had always been more than willing to share. However, instead of handing it over willingly, as he often would, Jeremy's grip on the toy tightened as he stared up at her, studying his mom warily, as though he wasn't sure if she could be trusted with something so important.

Jeremy had given Heather the same look that Christmas morning that Dean was giving his father now. Jeremy had handed over the car eventually, and Dean also obeyed, though it was done with great reluctance.

"Sammy, you go sit with Dad. Okay? I'll be done in a minute." The young boy instructed, releasing his little brother's hand, and nudging him toward their father.

"Okay, Dee."

Heather was surprised by the toddler, as she watched him nod willingly, releasing his hold on Dean's hand and moving over to the bench.

Scruff swiftly scooped up the small child and placed him down next to him.

A glance at the older son's face had Heather seeing her Jeremy again. It was the look the boy had given her after handing over his new toy. It was an almost stern expression, a silent declaration that, though he was allowing her to hold his most treasured possession, it did not belong to her; it was still his to keep and his mother was solely permitted to borrow it. She had been confused and slightly offended by the look, and the implication that she would not treat his toy with the utmost care. Scruff merely smirked at his son's possessive behaviour, shaking his head in fond exasperation before nodding again at the change-room.

Before stepping into the small room and closing the door, Dean glanced at his younger brother, the child smiling back, playfully swinging his legs as he sat on the bench. It was only when the fitting room door firmly shut, that the toddler reacted.

The dimply grin quickly faded from the young face, his small legs halting all motion, as his older brother was blocked from this view.

"Dee?" Sam called out.

"He'll be back in a minute, Sammy." The father soothed, resting his hand atop the shaggy head, combing the unruly hair out of the child's eyes.

The wide hazel gaze glanced at the older man, before staring back at the offending door that dared to separate the young boy from his big brother.

"Dee?" Sam repeated.

Heather winced as the toddler's pitch rose, a clear indication of rising distress. Any mother could recognize that panicked tone, and would know that it was almost always followed by tears and sobs.

Scruff seemed to notice the change his youngster's voice and appeared to understand it as the warning sign it was.

'Don't worry, buddy. Your brother will be out in a minute."

The words, though they were spoken in a comforting tone, did nothing to soothe the upset child.

"Dean!" He shouted out, jumping off the bench seat, nearly losing his balance as he landed. Scruff quickly reached out and snagged the child's jacket, saving him from tumbling to the ground, and pulled him back toward the bench.

"Sam." He barked sternly, just as Heather would have done had one of her children launched themselves so hazardously off a bench at that age.

The toddler paid no mind to his father's warning. Sam tried to fight off the large hands restraining him, squirming determinedly away, reaching desperately for the door just feet in front of him.

"Dean!" He cried, his voice shrill, nearing a scream as the tiny little arms stretched as far forward as they could.

"Stop it, Sam." The man ordered, his soft tone abandoned for one far more commanding.

Heather wasn't surprised by the stern voice, she had already assumed that the young father had some sort of military past. He carried himself similar to those who served, similar to her late husband, Marcus. No, the older lady was not shocked in the least by the strict tone and demand of authority that exuded from Scruff, what did pique her curiosity was the young child's complete disregard of his father's change in behaviour. On the occasion that Marcus chose to utilize that particular tone, the children would respond immediately, smartening right up. The young boy, Sammy, did not share that same reaction; instead, he continued to call out for his brother as he fought his father's hold.

The fitting room door opened just as the toddler slipped out of his jacket, escaping Scruff's firm grip. The older boy – dressed in a new outfit – immediately accepted the crying child into his arms and lifting him smoothly. Upon, witnessing how flawless he performed the task, Heather could tell that Dean was no stranger to carrying his little brother; and by the way Sam's legs and arms latched onto the older kid, she knew he was also quite used to the situation.

"It's okay, Sammy. I'm right here." The older kid declared, rubbing his hand up and down the toddler's back, soothing the youngster.

Dean glared over the shaggy head pressed against his chest, his accusing green eyes landing on his father. It was apparent that he was not the least bit impressed with the older man's idea of 'handling things', which he made shockingly obvious with the look of pure disproval painted across his young face. Heather twitched a smile at Dean's expression, inwardly marvelling at how mature the child was; he was far more protective than any boy of his age should be. The amused employee glanced back at Scruff, curious to see how he would take the level of attitude he was receiving.

The father of the two boys, rolled his eyes, visibly irritated, as he leveled his eldest with a stern look.

"Don't give me that look. He's fine all day while you're at school. How was I supposed to know he'd freak out now?" The older man declared, sounding very near defensive, as though he had to explain himself to his child.

Heather found the interaction to be rather odd. Scruff was behaving the way Marcus sometimes would when she would return from leaving him alone with the kids, only to find one of them upset and/or injured. She would arrive home, demanding to know what was wrong with her baby, and he would stutter out some excuse about how he had only looked away for a moment. He would try and explain to the protective mother what had occurred and how it wasn't his fault and couldn't have possibly been prevented. Just like a typical man.

Scruff's response was more than typical, what was abnormal was that he was explaining himself to his child, not his wife. Then again, when Heather returned her observant gaze to the boys, she found the disapproving expression, comforting hold, and protective stance that was being exhibited by the older child, to be completely motherly.

The small family was indeed the most peculiar she had ever encountered.

"That's cause he's used to me going to school. He's not used to me going anywhere else without him. I usually bring him with me in change rooms." Dean declared, both defending and explaining his younger brother's reaction to their separation.

"Well he is going to have to get over it. We have other things we need to do today. Sam will be fine." The older man assured, his arms outstretched ready to accept the child.

Both boys frowned.

"Sam, let go of your brother." He insisted.

The younger boy, with his huge puppy-dog eyes, stared at his dad and shook his head.

Scruff scowled.

"Dean, put him down. Now. That's an order." The man announced.

The young boy looked conflicted, his face scrunched up and his lips pursed as he looked between the child in his arms and the man seated on the bench a few short steps away.

Heather chewed on her fingernails as she watched, eager to find out what was to come next. She wondered what decision Dean would make, it was clear to the older woman that the eldest child was being torn in two separate directions. The observer found herself curious to see on which side of the fence the boy would fall.

She didn't know if she was relieved or disappointed when the little dimpled toddler was the one to make the decision.

"S'okay Dee. I can go down."

Heather was surprised by Sam's quiet declaration. He had shown no interest in leaving his brother's arms when his father requested it; but the moment something was demanded of Dean, the younger boy stepped in and did it for him. The older woman was amazed by the toddler's perception, shocked that a child of his age could sense his brother's struggle and step in to put an end to it. That degree of consideration and selflessness was something Heather had never seen before in a kid so young, or a child of any age for that matter.

Dean was still frowning over at his father, as he gently set his little brother on the tiled floor. Once the youngster was steady on his feet, the older boy removed his accusing gaze from his father and turned to his brother, placing his hands on each of the slender shoulders. Heather watched as the green eyes softened the moment they landed on the shaggy- headed child.

"I got a few more things to try on, but I am going to be back out real soon. You just wait out here for a minute. Okay, Sammy?"

The younger brother nodded obediently up at the taller boy.

"Okay, Dee."

The silent observer didn't miss the smile that brightened the freckled face. What she didn't know, was if the momentary appearance of joy was because of the toddler's obedience, or Sam's tendency to shorten his big brother's name.

This time when Dean went back in to the room and closed the door, Sam didn't make a sound, nor did he move to sit by their father; instead the child stood right beside the door, patiently awaiting his brother's return. No one commented on it, but Heather couldn't help but think that standing there was the young boy's silent rebellion against his father. If that were the case, the two stubborn males were destined for a long road and a rocky relationship.

Every few moments the fitting room door would open, and the young freckled child would step out. He would hold on to his little brother's hand as he waited patiently for his father to assess the fit of the articles of clothing he was trying one. After receiving either the confirming nod or the dismissive shake, Dean would release the toddler's hand and return to the fitting room. The process repeated itself until eventually the boy exited the room in his original outfit. He had a pile of clothes in each of his arms.

"I'll take the keepers." Scruff stated, rising to his feet and reaching out for the larger bundle of clothing.

Dean handed it over, his freed hand immediately reaching down to his left. Without even looking, the two brothers locked hands, and followed their father down the corridor. Heather stood as the trio approached.

"How'd everything go?" She questioned sweetly, as though she hadn't been observing them the entire time.

"Well enough." Scruff stated, with a slightly forced smile.

"Here, we aren't getting these ones." Dean announced, handing over the pile haphazardly folded and tucked under his right arm.

"Thank you, young man." Heather grinned, as she accepted the clothing, unable to get over how absolutely adorable the two boys were, both staring up at her. The hazel eyes were wide and innocent, the green ones were bright in colour and curiosity, but seemed wary as well, not nearly as trusting as Sam's. Dean's eyes were too old for a child of his age. Heather could tell just by looking at them that the boy had seen too much.

"Thank you." Freckles acknowledged politely, once the clothing had been taken. He then turned to his father. "Did that coat fit, Sammy?" He inquired.

Scruff stared down at his son, and then glanced at the coat the child was pointing to, looking at it as though he had forgotten it had been tossed over his arm all that time.

"He didn't try it on."

It wasn't a question and the degree of sheer disappointment in the youngster's tone was unavoidable.

He reached out for it. The older man sighed and handed it over to his eldest son. Dean pressed his lips together, accepting the jacket and walking over to the bench, his little brother in tow.

"That's quite the little man you've got there." Heather commented with a smile and a wink, watching as the freckled child removed the toddler's fall coat, replacing it with the winter one, all the while talking quietly to the younger boy.

"Yeah. Some days I'm not sure who is parenting who." Scruff commented with a chuckle.

The joyful sound and the fond smile looked good on the young parent, but Heather could tell that it was not his natural state.

"Your boys get along quite well, far better than any of mine ever did." She pointed out, watching the elder son zip the jacket up and thoroughly examine the fit. She was impressed when Dean made Sam lift his little arms, it was clear that he was checking to be sure the coat was a sufficient length, it was such a motherly thing to do.

"That's one way of putting it." Scruff huffed with a laugh. "Those two are inseparable."

"Have they always been that way?" Heather inquired.

It was apparent that was the wrong question, because the man's expression darkened the moment it left her mouth.

"For the past few years." He replied gruffly, before turning away and putting a clear end to the conversation.

"C'mon boys. Let's go." Scruff ordered.

Dean nodded obediently, switching his brother's jackets again, keeping the winter one in his one hand, as Sam immediately gripped his other one. It was like their little hands were magnets, always finding each other.

"Now." Scruff ordered impatiently, the process clearly taking longer than he wanted.

"The coat fits Sammy, good." The older boy declared as he pulled his little brother towards his father.

"Fine. I don't see why he can't just wear your old one, though." Scruff grumbled, grabbing the jacket and adding it to the pile of clothing in his arms.

"Cause it's too big for him. It goes over his knees and he can't play in the snow like that. Besides, it's not warm enough." Dean reasoned with a sigh, as though he had already explained himself.

Scruff shook his head, but made no comment as he lead the boys over towards the check-out line.

Heather pursed her lips at the interaction, hoping that Scruff took proper care of those two boys, hew as a hard one to pin. She could tell that he cared about the two children deeply, but his harsh exterior and lack of patience or understanding were both very concerning traits.

Nothing hurt a mother more than to see kids not being properly looked after, properly taken care of. Children were the epitome of everything good the harsh world had left to offer, and Heather did not comprehend anyone who did not see that, or anyone who mistreated those precious little lives in any way. Heather knew that adults had their demons, hell her own husband had a great many of his own. Marcus had spent his entire childhood being his father's personal punching-bag, and though he had been prone to losing his temper - never a particularly patient man - he had never once raised a hand to her or her babies. Despite his upbringing and the life of trauma he would spend many nights trying to drink away, he never repeated the mistakes he had learned. Marcus was a deeply flawed man, he drank too often and his refusal to kick his nicotine habit was what had ultimately lead to his demise. He hadn't been as present in their children's lives as Heather had always hoped the father of her kids would be, but he had never mistreated them. He had gone to the soccer games and helped with math homework. He had done the best he could, and in the end, that was all she could have asked of him. The most unforgivable thing he had ever done was leave too soon, her three boys had only been young teenagers when their father passed away, but when they spoke of their old man, it was always in a fond tone; because while Marcus had his own demons, and they had often kept the married couple from being as close and as happy as they could have been, he worked hard to keep the darkness inside of him hidden from the children. He had only taken to the bottle after the boys had gone to bed, and anytime the anger was getting the best of him, he would remove himself from the house, not returning until he was calm, even if that meant spending the night away.

Scruff reminded Heather of her late husband. She could tell by the burdened stoop of his shoulders and the shadows lurking in his eyes, that the young father had demons of his own, and as she watched the small family make their exit, she prayed that the boy's dad would be able to hide his darkness from his children the way Marcus always had from hers. Because all kids should be protected, even from their own parents.

However, as Heather watched Dean tug a coat free from the plastic shopping bag, and hold it out for his little brother to slide his arms through, as she observed the older brother zip the jacket up and pull the hood up over the shaggy head, as she looked at the way the two boys smiled at each other before latching hands again, she thought that maybe - regardless of the sins of the father - Sam and Dean might just be okay.

Even if someday the demons that haunted the older man overcame him, the two young boys would still protect each other.

If one day Scruff was no longer able to conceal the darkness hiding inside of him, his children would be able to depend on each other.

If one day the father were to buckle under the weight that caused his shoulders to stoop in such a way, his sons would have one another to lean on.

If one day the shadows in the young parent's eyes stole away his clarity and plunged his world in to darkness, his kids would be each other's light and see one another through.

No childhood should ever be so burdened and uncertain, but Heather could see that regardless of what became of Scruff, his two sons would always have each other.

Even from the one short interaction, it was clear to the older woman, that the brotherhood shared by Sam and Dean was one of - a nearly - supernatural strength.

They were so young, but if they maintained that powerful bond, Heather knew it would get them through all the suffering that life had to offer.

Through the cold Minnesota winter.

Through financial hardship.

Through an unsteady childhood.

Through the sins of their father.

It would get them through it all, as long as they had the strength and the will to stick together.

And of that, Heather had not doubt.

Scruff had sad it himself, those brothers were inseparable.

And even if they were ever to part ways, brotherhood transcended any amount of distance.

Especially one as unique and powerful as Sam and Dean's.

Yes, Heather had faith that those two little boys would be alright.

Because she had seen their brotherly bond with her own two eyes.

And she knew that it would last them a lifetime.

Hell, it could probably last them a dozen lifetimes.

If such a silly notion was the least bit practical.

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Note: that was a little bit more my typical length eh?! I like this one, I hope that some of you do too! Thank you so much for reading! I would love for you to comment or review if you have a spare second. I love hearing your thoughts! It means a lot to me and I promise to try to reply to as many as possible. - Sam


	3. Chapter 3

Note: This chapter has a tag to two of my other fics. It can be seen as a continuation of _The Lucky One_ \- it takes place briefly after that fic and has a couple references to it, it also shares a similar tone. This also contains a link to _It Will Get Them Through_ because it is one of my faves. You need not read either of those fics to understand this one, but the connections are there.

* * *

"Let's go, Sammy. Get a move on it, short-stuff."

Dean really didn't care how fast or slow Sam vacated the school, he was simply playing his part.

He was perfectly content to sit behind the wheel of his prized possession, and hum along to his cassettes. Ever since Dean was given the Impala, waiting for Sam's school to let out was a far more pleasant experience than it used to be. Instead of standing outside and being exposed to the elements, he could relax in his baby and enjoy the wait.

He wasn't known for his patience, no teenage boy was, but he had never minded waiting for Sam. Whether Dean was waiting for the kid to get ready in the morning, or finish his dinner, or open-up about what was going on in that big brain of his, or if it was just waiting for the little man to get out of school; the teen never had a problem being patient with Sammy. Dean actually preferred to be the one waiting.

A few towns back, the elementary school had let out before the high school, which had left an eleven-year-old Sam waiting out front of the building for his big brother. The two schools had been close by, but it had made Dean incredibly anxious to know Sammy was standing out front on his own. And then some dumb fucking morons had bullied his little brother. Some assholes Dean had thought of as his friends, had picked on the younger boy. Those teenage scumbags had made Sam feel like a piece of shit, they had threatened, belittled, and abused him. Worst of all, they had made the youngest Winchester doubt his worth. Dean had destroyed them for it, but it still hadn't felt like a sufficient degree of revenge, not for what they had done to his kid.

The teen shook his head, hoping to dislodge the thoughts, swallowing down the anger that had been rising inside of him. That was the past, and there was nothing to be done about it now. Except to ensure that it never repeated itself, which was exactly why Dean was loitering outside Sam's school.

He watched the students filtering out, searching for a shaggy-headed munchkin, knowing that he wouldn't be able to spot Sam until he was much closer. The kid was just so damn small.

"Whoah, that car is so cool."

Dean smirked at the compliment, glancing to his left to see a trio of youngsters ogling the Impala. It was two boys and a girl, they were about Sam's size, but looked to be a couple years younger.

"It's here every day, haven't you seen it before?" The girl asked.

"No, whose is it?"

"That guy's, duh."

"Yeah, but who is he?"

"That's Hand-Me-Down-Sam's brother."

That remark snagged Dean's attention, and he sat up straight, his fists clenching. Sam had assured him that he wasn't having any problems with bullies at this school. He hadn't come home with any new bruises or tearstains on his cheeks. Dean knew they hadn't been in town long enough for the shy kid to make friends, but he had thought things were going alright.

Now he wasn't so sure.

"Is that the new kid? Why do you call him that?"

One of the boys shrugged as he answered. "It's what the older boys call him."

"My big brother calls him Second-Hand-Sam. He says that's what all the eighth graders call him." The other boy added.

"Why?" The girl questioned.

Which was exactly what Dean wanted to know.

"Because all his clothes are too big. None of them fit him and my brother says they are all old, so they have to be hand-me-downs."

"But don't you wear your brother's old clothes?" The higher voice questioned.

Dean nodded, it seemed the young girl was the only one who had any damn sense.

One of the boys replied.

"Yeah, but that's cause they fit me. Sam's don't fit him. Besides, Jeremy's old clothes never look as old as the ones the new kid wears."

The children appeared to agree with one another and soon dispersed at the summons of their parents.

Dean sat, trying to come to terms with everything he had heard. It was bad enough that - apparently -the kids in Sam's own grade and above thought it was okay to label him with cruel nicknames, but the fact that it had trickled its way through the entire school, that was fucked up. Dean was going to hunt down the assholes who started all this, the older boys who thought it was okay to pick on a younger kid, a child who had done nothing to bring such ridicule upon himself, apart from wearing the wrong fucking clothing.

Dean made a conscious effort to unclench his fists as he spotted Sam making his way toward the parking lot.

He did what he always did upon spotting his younger brother after any amount of time spent apart, and looked the kid over. No bruises, no blood, no tears; physically, Sammy was fine. Dean then allowed his gaze to wonder over the boy as he approached. His jacket was stained and ripped, but it fit him okay. It was the only article of clothing he was wearing that fit him. That was because Dean had purchased the jacket several months back, but in their lifestyle and with their family business, no clothing ever stayed nice for long. Dean had also purchased the coat at a second-hand store; even though it was new, it was still old and used. The sweater he was wearing draped beneath the jacket and its sleeves were rolled up to keep from hiding Sam's hands. His pantlegs were also rolled up, he was practically drowning in his ripped jeans. The sad part was, Sam was wearing the nicest pair of pants that he owned. They were the only ones without stains and shreds. Even the kid's shoes flopped around on his feet, Dean knew they didn't fit. Sam had a pair of boots that fit and they were great for trudging through the forest on a hunt, but no good for shuffling from class to class.

Sam was wearing some of his best clothes, and they were all still far too big and much too old. The kid almost never got new clothing, save for once a year when Dean would buy him a new jacket. He had always worn Dean's hand-me-downs. Even when they were kids their Dad would take them to the local thrift store and he would buy Dean new clothing. His reasoning was that Sam had his big brother's old clothes, and they didn't have enough money to purchase unnecessary items. That had simply been the way things were growing up. Dean always knew it was unfair. His new outfits may have all come from a second-hand store, but at least they fit him properly. Sam was stuck wearing his brother's clothes and Dean was four years older than the kid, he was also tall for his age while Sam was small for his; the hand-me-downs draped off the younger boy. And not once had Sam complained.

Not one fucking time.

He didn't complain when he had to tighten his belt to keep the pants on. He didn't complain about the rips in his jeans or the way they dragged on the ground. He didn't complain every time he had to roll the sleeves up so they didn't conceal his fingers. He didn't complain about the holes or stains. He didn't care about the bland colours or the names of bands he didn't care for.

He hadn't complained one fucking time in his entire life about receiving the short end of yet another stick.

Dean scowled. He knew that it was unfair, he had always known, and yet he hadn't done jack-shit about it. Well, that was all going to change. It was going to change right now.

"Hey Dean." The preteen greeted, dropping into the passenger seat and gifting his big brother with a brilliant pair of dimples.

Dean felt warmth instantly spread through him, the way it did every time he caught sight of Sammy's smile.

"Hi-ya squirt."

Sam rolled his eyes at the nickname, but his grin remained in place as Dean started the car and directed it out onto the road.

"How was school?" The teenager questioned.

He glanced to the right in time to see his little brother's smile fade away, before he turned to look out the passenger window.

"It was fine." He stated, his tone filled with a levity that his expression no longer conveyed.

Dean shook his head. His brother gave him that same answer every day, and he always knew it was bullshit, but now he was aware of the extent of it.

"You missed the turn." Sam pointed out, his inquisitive gaze focussing to the left.

"Yeah, I have some errands to run. Is that cool?"

Sam nodded, turning back to stare forlornly out the window.

Dean smirked, eager to see the kid's reaction when he found out what his big brother had instore for him.

The teen drove past the trashy downtown thrift store without giving it a second glance. He wanted to buy new clothes for Sam, not stick the kid with some stranger's second-hand shit.

Sam squinted curiously out the windshield when the Impala pulled into the Walmart parking lot. It was rare for them to shop at big-box stores, mostly because the towns they stayed in seldom housed them, and also because they were often too expensive for the Winchester's meagre finances.

None of that was an issue this time. The town they were staying in wasn't of a large size, but was big enough to play host to at least one superstore. Dean also had a pocket full of cash thanks to a very successful evening spent at the packed bar down the street from their motel.

No, there was nothing stopping the teen from spoiling his kid brother. Not this time.

Sam exited the vehicle and followed his brother into the building without a word, even though Dean could clearly see that the smaller boy's interest had been piqued. The teen made sure that his little brother was trailing close behind him as they made their way through the store. There was a lot more space for Sam to get lost and a lot more people to grab him in Walmart, than there was at the raggedy little thrift stores they frequented.

Once they arrived at the clothing section, Sam still hadn't spoken a word. He gazed at the merchandise with a vague interest as he blindly followed his big brother. Dean chuckled when he stopped and felt Sam's small foot step up onto his heal, the younger boy having failed to notice that they were no longer moving.

"Sorry." He muttered, stepping back and staring expectantly up at Dean.

"Pick out some clothes, dude."

"What?"

"Clothes. Pick out the clothes you like and then we'll go try them on."

Sam's complete confusion both amused and disturbed the teen. Dean felt a knife of regret perforate his soul as he stared into his little brother's perplexed gaze. Sam didn't understand that they were shopping for him, because it was so fucking rare. There were so few occasions where clothing had been purchased for the youngest Winchester and it often consisted of a winter coat or maybe a pair of boots. The kid had almost never had clothing bought just for him. It wasn't because their Dad loved Sam any less than Dean, or because he didn't deserve new outfits. It was solely because he was younger and smaller, and Dean's hand-me-downs were free. According to John, new clothes for Sam were an unnecessary purchase that they could not afford. Dean had understood that, hell, he still understood it. They didn't have much money and Sam did grow into his brother's old outfits, eventually. However, the four years and extreme size difference between the two meant it took forever for Dean's shirts to not have to be rolled up anymore. It also didn't help that Dean's used clothes were a lot more used than most older sibling's clothing would be. Hunting wreaked havoc on materials like cotton and denim.

Hunting wreaked havoc on everything: skin, bones, bank accounts, families, and especially innocent little brothers.

"Dean?"

The teen returned his focus to the present moment and the eleven-year-old he was still staring at.

"What are you talking about? You want me to pick out clothes for you?" Sam queried in all seriousness.

The inquiry wasn't as absurd as most people would think it to be. Dean often requested his brother's opinion on the clothing he picked out when he had nothing but jeans that no longer buttoned and shirts that stopped before his waist, at which point the eldest Winchester would order his firstborn to go make some purchases. Dean loved getting taller, but he seemed to be sprouting up constantly, and he hated having to use chunks of their limited finances to buy himself more clothing, especially on occasions when they couldn't afford decent food. When it was time for an updated wardrobe, Dean wanted his little brother to like the clothing as well, because he knew the kid would end up wearing whatever survived. He would try and find the best quality items that could be found in the thrift store for a cheap price, so that hopefully they would hold together well enough. He tried to choose a lot of blues and reds, because that was what Sammy liked to wear. Dean also treated his clothing the best that he could, wanting everything to be in relatively good condition for his little brother. But it didn't matter how gentle he was with the clothes, he couldn't do anything about how big they would still be on Sammy.

"Dean?"

He realized he had yet to answer the younger boy.

"No, Sammy. I want you to pick out clothes for yourself."

Sam frowned. "But you already got me a jacket.

"I know, and the damn thing already has a hole in it." Dean sighed, poking his finger through the hole in the fabric on Sam's left shoulder where it had been singed during a salt-and-burn.

Sam's face fell as he looked down at his front.

"I know, I'm sorry, I—

"Shut-up, Sammy. It's not your fault." Dean dismissed. Leave it to Sam to blame himself for the damage hunting did to his clothes.

The younger boy quirked a smile, staring up at Dean from beneath his bangs.

"The point is, you need new clothes. So, we are here to get you some new clothes."

Understanding finally dawned on the young face, but apprehension was quick to follow.

"Dean, I don't need anything—

"Yeah, you do." Dean dismissed.

Sam rolled his eyes, but chose a new point to argue.

"Fine, but the second-hand store is just a few minutes away, we drove past it. We can just go there."

Dean shook his head. "No, we are getting your clothes here."

"Dean, it's too expensive."

"Sam, it's Walmart, not the Ritz."

"But—

"I have enough money to buy you some half-decent clothes."

"But that's _your_ money!"

"Exactly, and I can use it however the fuck I want. So, stop arguing with me."

"But—

"Holy shit, dude. If you don't start picking some things out, I will choose them for you."

Sam made to reply, but Dean continued.

"One more word, and you'll have to go to school tomorrow wearing a pink frilly shirt and a tutu."

Sam bit his lip, as though he had to physically restrain himself from bickering. Dean smirked at his stubborn little brother.

"C'mon kiddo." He encouraged, nudging the boy forward, toward a stack of shirts.

Sam huffed, but obediently dragged his feet in the prompted direction. Once Sam had selected a few shirts they headed toward the pants, on their way they passed a middle-aged man who appeared to be wandering through the kids' clothing department. Dean had spotted him when they arrived, but hadn't paid him any mind, assuming he was a father shopping for his children. However, now that the young hunter gave the stranger a more thorough inspection, he realized the shopper had yet to collect one item. Dean's alert gaze travelled up to the man's face, where he saw a spark of amusement and a smile revealing a set of yellow teeth. It took the teen a mere second to realize who the stranger was staring at. It was Sam. The creepy mother-fucker was staring at his kid brother with far too much interest than any grown-ass man should ever have for eleven-year old boy. Dean threw a death-glare in the perv's direction as he immediately steered Sam away from the shopper. Sam didn't seem to notice that they took the long way around to get to the stacks of pants and once they arrived the man was nowhere to be seen. Dean exhaled a sigh of relief, allowing some of the tension to drain from his body, but remaining alert, as he helped his little brother select a few pairs of jeans to try on.

It took an awful lot of cajoling, but eventually Sam had an arm full of clothes and was entering a fitting room.

"I'll be right out here, buddy." Dean stated, dropping down on a chair lined up against the wall across from Sam's door.

"Do you want to see them?" Sam questioned, as he placed his clothing down on the bench in the small change room.

The inquiry seemed unsure, and was yet another reminder of how rare this situation was for the kid. Dean was always the one disappearing into the fitting room to try things on, and when they were younger he was the one who had stepped out in the new outfit to be given their father's approval. It had always been Dean, and Sam had been simply standing by the door playing the part of a patient spectator.

Never complaining.

Because the kid was fucking incredible.

"Yeah, Sammy, of course." Dean responded, partly because he wanted Sam to have the full shopping experience, but mostly because he knew that the squirt would be embarrassed that he asked if Dean declared it unnecessary. The situation was new to the kid, and the teen could tell his little brother was feeling insecure about it, Dean wasn't about to play on that.

Sam quirked a small smile, nodding before disappearing behind the door.

Dean hummed softly to himself, glancing aimlessly around. The fitting rooms were empty, the grocery section of the store had been full enough when they walked through it, but it would seem that it wasn't a popular time to be purchasing clothing. Dean nodded his head, that was good, just how he wanted it. He didn't like too many people around, more specifically, he didn't like too many people around Sam. It was much easier for him to look out for his little brother when it was just the two of them.

The squeak of hinges sent Dean's gaze forward and he watched Sam timidly step out into the hall.

"Well, the shirt is too big." He declared. The younger boy's thin frame being swallowed by the navy t-shirt.

"But it's an extra small." Sam pouted, tugging at the material.

"Yeah, well if you plan on shopping in the men's section, you'll be needing an extra-extra small, and I'm not even sure that would fit."

"I don't think that's a size."

"That's my point. C'mere, and let me see the pants."

Sam shuffled forward until he was standing between his brother's knees.

Dean lifted the baggy shirt up enough so that he could see the waistband. He hooked his finger on one of the jean belt-loops and tugged, testing to be sure they weren't too tight or too loose.

"They're a little long, but they'll work. What do you think?" Dean asked, sitting back in the chair.

"They fit." Sam said, looking up at his brother.

"Yeah, I know, but do you like them?"

Sam's mouth pinched in a line as he looked down at himself, before shrugging.

"Sammy."

The soft call fulfilled its intention and had the hazel eyes returning to Dean's face.

"This will be a lot easier if you just tell me what you're thinking." The teen pointed out.

"They're sorta dark." He mentioned before biting back down on his bottom lip.

Dean nodded, they were dark, almost black.

"Alright, well you've got a couple pairs of lighter ones in there, same size and style, go try them on. I am going to go grab you a few different shirts, because I don't think any of the ones in there are going to fit." Dean declared, getting to his feet.

"Don't get the kid's ones."

"Why not? Those kid's pants fit you better than any of the men's ones would."

Sam frowned.

"What do you have against kid's clothing?"

"They're for kids." Sam mumbled with a shrug.

"Dude, I hate to break it to you, but you are a kid." Dean pointed out, with an amused smirk.

Sam rolled his eyes, apparently not requiring the news flash.

"Yeah, but all the clothes are like little kid clothes and they have stupid stuff on them. You never wear any stuff like that."

Dean finally caught on to what his little brother was getting at. John and Dean only ever wore plain clothing, and Sam didn't want to seem immature or different by dressing in bright colours or wearing clothes with designs or graphics on them.

"I've had band shirts before. You know that, you've worn most of them." Dean mentioned.

"Yeah but those are cool, not babyish."

Dean frowned. He hated how fast Sam was being forced to grow up. The kid didn't even feel like he could wear clothing for children his age, because it wasn't "mature enough." Dean hated it, but he wasn't about to pressure Sam into wearing what he didn't want to. The boy had spent his entire life stuck wearing shit he didn't choose for himself. Dean was going to let the kid pick out whatever the fuck he wanted, no matter how bland it was.

"I'll find some plain colours for you, Sam. Alright? Some simple shirts that actually fit your scrawny ass." Dean joked.

Sam's dimples flashed as he nodded his approval.

"Now get back in there and try on those other pants. And don't come out of that room until I get back. Okay?" Dean instructed seriously. He was never a fan of leaving his brother alone, especially in a public place.

Sam released a long-suffering sigh, but nodded in reluctant compliance.

Dean waited until the younger boy closed and locked the fitting room door, before departing in his search for Sam-approved clothing.

He retuned moments later with an armful of solid coloured shirts, blue, green, red, nothing too bright, but nothing too dull. There were also two sweaters, one grey hoodie and one navy blue zip-up; as well as a few button-up shirts, a red plaid, a blue plaid, and a solid hunter green. He had a faded green jacket that had a collar and pockets, it was a lot like one Dean used to have, before it got shredded apart by some fugly beast.

"Alright, kiddo, show me what you got." Dean called out, dropping back down into the chair placing the bundle of clothes on his lap, except for one shirt which he tucked beneath his leg.

Sam appeared sporting a lighter pair of jeans and a blue collared shirt.

"The shirt is a little baggy, but not as bad as the last one." Dean observed, motioning for his little brother to move closer.

"I like this shirt." Sam mumbled dejectedly, as he lifted it up out of the way so that Dean could tug on his waistband and be sure the pants fit properly.

Dean looked up, tugging the shirt back down and giving it a once over.

"It's still pretty big, dude, but I didn't see anything like it in the kids' section."

"I'll grow into it." Sam defended, using the same phrase that their Dad always did when the youngest Winchester was stuck drowning in his brother's old clothes.

Dean shifted forward and fixed the collar of the shirt, before leaning back and looking it over again.

"It fits me better than all the clothes I have now." Sam added.

He wasn't wrong. And how fucked up was that?

"Okay, the shirt is a keeper. How about the jeans?"

"I like them too." Sam stated.

"Good stuff. Now take these, and get back in there." Dean instructed, handing the stack of clothing over to the younger boy.

"This is a lot." Sam announced, his eyes wide as he tried to wrap his tiny arms around the pile.

"You don't have to try it all on, just try one of the t-shirts and one of the button-ups. They are all the same style, so if one fits you than the others will."

Sam nodded, before nudging the door closed with his elbow.

The third pair of pants fit well-enough, everything was a tad long on the young boy, but at least these new clothes didn't drown the kid. The children's shirts fit a lot better than the extra small adult one had, the solid coloured tee's as well as the button-ups.

"That's a good fit." Dean commented, once Sam tried on the hoodie.

The younger boy shrugged evasively.

"What's up? Don't you like it?" Dean questioned.

It wasn't much to look at, but it was soft and grey, and it didn't have rips or stains, so it was a step-up from all his current sweaters.

Sam shrugged again.

Dean frowned. His brother wasn't a picky kid, but he seemed unimpressed.

"There's other colours if you want, but they all have pictures and stuff on them."

"It's not that." Sam mumbled.

"Then what is it?"

Another shrug, Dean rolled his eyes.

"Sam." The teen called, levelling his brother with a look. It wasn't stern or serious, it was soft and understanding, it was the look Dean always used to get his little brother to open-up.

"It's just…" Sam faded out, tugging the sleeves over his fingers.

"Just what?" Dean inquired patiently.

"I like wearing your sweaters." Sam whispered, glancing between his older brother and the floor at his feet.

Dean felt his heart swell, warmth flooding through him. Sam was the only one who could make the teen feel this way. With one soft statement the kid had Dean feeling so fucking loved, he could barely breathe.

He cleared the throat, trying to rid of the lump that had suddenly appeared there.

"Buddy, you know you can wear any of my stuff whenever the hell you want. It has always been that way, and nothing is going to change that. It just might be good to have a couple extra sweaters around, ones you could wear to school." Dean suggested.

He knew that Sam always found comfort in his big brother's clothing, not his hand-me-downs but the ones that Dean was still wearing. The teen would often dress his kid brother in his own sweats whenever the he was ill or injured. Dean never quite understood why Sam preferred to huddle-up in his big brother's hoodies, but he would be lying if he said it didn't make him feel all sorts of girlie shit.

"You good with that?" Dean asked, ducking down to catch his little brother's gaze past his curtain of hair.

Sam nodded, his hazel eyes peeking out as he smiled shyly over at the teen.

"Good." Dean spoke with a nod, clearing his throat once again, pretending that the adoration emitting from his kid brother's gaze, wasn't affecting him in the least.

"Do you want me to try on the zip-up one, too?" The young boy questioned.

"Yeah, it looked a bit small, so we better try it out."

Sam scampered back into the fitting room and switched sweaters, before reappearing in front of the teen. It was then that Dean felt eyes on them, and he turned to look up the hallway. The man from before, the one that had been loitering in the children's clothing department, was standing at the end of the line of change rooms. Dean snarled at the older man. He hadn't liked the way the stranger looked at his little brother when Dean first spotted him, and he liked it even less now. The man looked disarming enough, but the way he watched Sam wasn't right. The creep stared at Dean's kid with a predatory interest, and it was all the teen could do to not jump up and beat the shit of the asshole for simply looking in Sam's direction with that twisted smile on his face.

Dean glared at the middle-aged man as he reached forward and tugged his little brother closer, angling the kid so his back was to the perverted sonuvabitch. The pedo appeared to get the message, because he quickly vanished from the hallway.

Sam missed the entire interaction, too busy trying to work the stiff zipper on the sweater. He didn't seem bothered by Dean repositioning him, and he didn't look up long enough to spot the threatening look the older boy had been directing down the hall.

"Go grab the jacket, I want to try it on over the sweater to make sure it fits right." Dean instructed.

Sam returned wearing the coat, moving to stand between Dean's knees, allowing his older brother to straighten and adjust the outerwear.

"It fits good, it's thick, and should be warm enough. How do you like it?"

"You just bought me a jacket."

"Not what I asked." Dean dismissed.

"Yeah, but—

"Sam. Do you like it?"

The young boy squinted at the teen. Dean wasn't sure what Sam was looking for, but the kid must have found it, because eventually he released a long sigh and gave in.

"Yes, I like it." He pouted.

Dean chuckled at the petulant confession.

"Good. Now go get your clothes back on and we'll get out of here and go grab something to eat." Dean announced, having heard his kid brother's stomach rumble and feeling his do the same. They had been running low on food the past few days. That was the reason Dean had gone out to the bar to drum up some cash. He had been going nearly every night all week. The first couple nights were a bust, there had been no gamblers willing to spend more than a couple hundred bucks at the poker table. The rent for their one bedroom apartment alone cost over half a grand, and Dean had no interest in moving him and Sam. They were in the nicest building they could afford; the teen had secretly looked into cheaper options, and had only been met with sketchy as hell buildings that would keep him from sleeping at night. It was true, the brothers were no strangers to questionable living situations, but now that Dean was older, he was doing his best to alter that. He had more control and much more capability to keep a nicer, safer roof over his kid's head.

Dean had spent all of the past five nights out late at the bars hoping to improve their situation. While the first three had been useless, the fourth had been successful enough for Dean to collect the remainder of the rent he would be needing to hand over at the end of the week. Last night he had vowed to stay out as long as it took to win enough money to restock the kitchen. He hadn't returned home until four this morning, but he had a stack of bills to show for it. By the time he had gathered the required funds, all of the grocery stores had been closed, but the teen had fully intended on waking up two hours later to go grab some grub before they had to head off to school. Unfortunately, his alarm had failed to sound. Dean was fairly certain that was Sam's doing. His little brother had frequently expressed his disapproval of the hours Dean was keeping. He had vocalized his concern over the teen's lack of sleep several times throughout the week. So, when Dean woke up just a few minutes before school started, to a young boy lightly tapping him and handing him one of the last two granola bars, and a cellphone that was further from his reach than he would have placed it, Dean knew that his late sleep had been entirely by design. There hadn't been any food left to pack for lunches, but Dean had given Sam some money to buy his own meal.

However, by the growling he had heard echoing in the kid's stomach, Dean was starting to wonder if Sam used any of that cash.

"Sam." He called out, standing from the chair to knock on the fitting room door.

"I'm not done yet." The boy replied, his voice muffled as he undressed.

"Did you buy yourself any lunch today?"

The silence spoke volumes.

Dean scowled at the door that separated him from his little brother.

"Sam." He growled.

There was another minute of rustling in the fitting room, before Sam stepped out into the hall. He was back in Dean's hand-me-downs and held a neatly folded stack of clothing in each hand. If Dean hadn't been so distracted by another matter, he would have snickered at his little brother's O.C.D tendencies.

"You can leave the stuff that didn't fit on the bench - there's no one out here to take them - and then you can tell me why the hell you thought it was okay to skip lunch." Dean instructed, instinctively pulling the hood of Sam's sweater out from where it was bunched beneath his coat, and smoothing it over his jacket collar.

Sam sighed, leaving the pile of pristinely organized clothing in the fitting room, before turning back to his big brother. The kid's gaze travelled up to the teen's chest, but no further.

Dean could tell that getting to the bottom of this was going to require some gentle prodding, something he would much rather due in the privacy of the Impala and away from prying eyes.

"C'mon, kiddo. Let's get out of here." Dean urged, grabbing the remaining stack of clothes and giving it a cursory glance to ensure all the outfits Sam had liked were in the pile, before tucking it under his arm.

Sam's tentative nod told Dean that the younger boy was aware that their conversation about lunch was not over, but simply tabled until they were finished at the store.

The brothers walked out of the fitting rooms and back through the clothing section. On their way to the check-out, Dean felt as though they were being watched again. He knew whose eyes were on them before he even looked and those eyes weren't on "them" they were on Sam. Dean threw his most menacing look to his left. It was all he could to resist the urge to march over and beat the ever-loving shit out of that perverted fucker. The teen reached out, his hand grabbing onto Sam's hood and tugging the younger boy back toward him.

Sam released a grunt of both indignation and confusion, and looked accusingly up at Dean.

The older brother glanced down at the younger, he didn't have to say so much as a word to make Sam understand what was going on. The kid could read Dean like a book, he had always been able to, and they had been in enough dangerous situations for Sam to understand when there was a threat.

And wasn't that all different levels of fucked up?

Dean used his hold on his brother's sweater to tug the hood up over the shaggy head. Sam made no protest, he simply slowed his steps and melted into Dean's side. The teen felt his heart clench at how blindly Sam trusted him. He didn't demand an explanation or ask any questions - something he would often do when John gave instruction – he just willingly and completely trusted his big brother to take care of him.

And that was exactly what Dean was always going to do.

The teen glared over at the predatorial sonuvabitch who was trying to make Dean's kid his prey.

Big fucking mistake.

Dean wrapped his right arm protectively over the narrow shoulders and pulled Sam impossibly closer, sufficiently sheltering the eleven-year-old from the sick stalker. Dean's possessive behaviour and his hold on his little brother screamed "mine" louder than words ever could, and the middle-aged creeper thankfully got the message and eventually turned away.

Dean's grip on his little brother didn't loosen, and Sam made no attempt to wander from his side, as they arrived at the cash registers. The teen placed the pile of clothes on the conveyor belt, glancing down to his right as he felt Sam shifting beneath his arm. The younger boy pulled out a few folded bills and handed them over to his brother.

"What's that for?" Dean questioned, as he waited for the cashier to finish scanning the items.

"My clothes."

Dean looked at Sam's open palm. There was the twenty that the teen gave his little brother for lunch, and a couple fives. He knew that Sam had already used up most of his savings for Dean's birthday present a couple weeks back. The meager cash was all that Sam had left, he had worked hard to earn that money shovelling driveways - which had resulted in him contracting a wretched cold - and there was no way Dean was taking it.

"Keep it, dude. I'm good."

The younger boy frowned, staring up at Dean from beneath the hood still pulled over his head.

"At least take the money you gave me for lunch." He insisted, picking out the twenty-dollar-bill and holding it up.

Dean shook his head.

"Nope, I gave that to you and even though you didn't use it for what you were supposed to, it's still yours."

Sam frowned.

"Put it away, Sammy. I've got this." Dean instructed.

Sam huffed, but did what was requested of him.

The older boy counted out the necessary amount and handed it over to the disinterested employee, pocketing the change and receipt before snagging the bag of clothes and directing Sam out of the store.

Dean didn't release his protective grip on his little brother until they arrived back at the Impala. Sam didn't flick the hood off his head until he was seated comfortably in the passenger seat, with his new clothes sitting next to his backpack at his feet.

"So, you want to tell me why you skipped lunch?" Dean questioned, glancing at his brother as he directed the car back onto the road.

Sam turtled into his sweater, clearly regretting having removed his hood so soon.

"Sam." Dean prompted, patience wavering.

"I couldn't." The boy admitted.

"What do you mean you couldn't? I gave you money and your school has a cafeteria, I saw it there when I took you on your first day."

"I know. But you can't just buy food. I thought you could, but I always pack a lunch so I've never tried before."

"What do you mean you can't just by food?" Dean questioned, baffled by the idea that food was not available for purchase at a damn cafeteria.

Sam released a long-suffering sigh before providing an answer.

"You have to be on the meal-plan, and you can't get on it unless you parent signs a permission form."

Dean's jaw clenched, silently cursing himself for not being aware of that fact. He should have known. It killed him that he had been stuffing a burger and fries in his face during his lunch period, while Sam had been sitting there fucking starving.

"You should have gone to the office and had them call me, I would have brought you something." Dean declared, though he knew Sam never would have done such a thing. The moron would be afraid of being a bother, he would rather suffer in silence than be an inconvenience to anyone He didn't want to be a burden. It didn't matter how many times Dean told him that wasn't possible, Sam never believed it. Because that was how the kid's warped little mind operated.

It drove Dean mental.

"So, all you ate today was a granola bar?" The teen glanced to his right for confirmation, and was disturbed by what he saw. Sam was avoiding Dean's gaze and chewing on his bottom lip.

"What?" The teen grit out, already knowing he was going to dislike whatever it was that Sam was hesitant to tell him.

"I gave you the last one." He mumbled.

"No, dude, there were two left. I remember there being two."

"There were, last night, before I ate one. This morning there was just the one."

"When did you eat the other one? You were heading to bed when I went out last night."

"Yeah, but I couldn't sleep and I got hungry so I ate mine. It's not a big deal." Sam said with a shrug.

It was. To the older Winchester it was a big fucking deal that he had two meals that day and his kid hadn't had a single thing to eat.

"Cut it out, Dean. It's not your fault." Sam assured sincerely.

Dean shook his head, staring out the windshield, flicking the wipers on as the rain began to fall.

"Dean." Sam called.

The teen clenched his jaw, guilt coiling around his heart, ensnaring it and reminding him of how many goddamn times he had failed his kid.

"Dean, don't—

"What do you want to eat?" Dean bit out, interrupting whatever undeserving absolution his little brother was about to offer him.

"But it's not—

"Sam. What do you want for dinner?" The older boy repeated in a stern tone.

The youngest Winchester released a my-big-brother-is-so-exhausting sigh, before answering.

"I don't care. Anything." Sam stated with a shrug.

"Pizza?" Dean suggested. Searching for something he knew his little brother enjoyed. He would even get one with chicken and veggies on it, Sam always liked that.

"Sure. Can we get it to go? I'm tired." The teen confessed softly.

"That's what happens when you don't eat all day." Dean declared, not without sympathy.

"I'm sorry." Sam whispered.

Dean glanced over to his right, long enough to catch a glimpse a pair of wide beseeching eyes staring up at him.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for, Sammy." He stated sincerely, removing all traces of anger from his voice, including the fury he felt towards himself.

"Neither do you." Sam announced, sounding equally as genuine.

Dean kept his gaze forward, ignoring the comment as he searched out a pizza joint.

His little brother huffed softly, before pulling the bag of clothes up onto his lap and searching through it.

"What you looking for?" Dean questioned.

"The sweater. It's warmer than this one."

"You cold?" The teen asked, already reaching forward and nudging the heater up a couple notches.

"A little." The younger boy shrugged, giggling a second later.

Dean glanced to his right, seeing the shirt Sam was holding. He had almost forgotten about the article of clothing he had stashed secretly in his brother's stack of clothes.

"Why did you get this?" Sam inquired with an amused grin, holding up the black long sleeve shirt that had the Batman insignia on the front.

Dean shrugged.

"Because you're still a kid, Sammy, and it's okay if you act like it from time to time." He stated, sending an encouraging smile over to his little brother. Sam was already more mature than any other kid his age, or Dean's age for that matter. He was walking, talking, and acting like an adult, that didn't mean he had to dress like one too. Dean wanted his little brother to know that it was okay for him to have some fun and be a little less serious every now and again. The teen hoped that maybe a fun shirt would encourage Sam to act a little more his age.

"You too." The kid's sincerity was unavoidable.

Sam must have noticed Dean's raised eyebrows, because he soon continued.

"You're a teenager. It's okay to just be a teenager sometimes and not feel guilty or take responsibility for every little thing that happens."

"I'm supposed to take care of you." The teen rasped past the lump that had appeared in his throat without his consent, as he stared out the windshield.

"You do, Dean. It's why you're searching for a pizza place. It's why you have been up so late every night this week. It's why you won't switch us to a cheaper place even though that would mean you wouldn't have to worry so much about money. It's why you just bought me all new clothes. All of that is you taking care of me."

Dean glanced intermittingly between the road and his kid brother, doing the best to see clearly past the uninvited tears blurring his vision. He listened, his heart swelling as the young boy by his side sucked in a shaky breath.

"You always take care of me, Dean. You take care of me better than anybody else." Sam declared passionately, his voice cracking more than once.

Dean could do little more than nod his acknowledgement as he worked to swallow past the emotion clogging his airways. He feigned distraction by actively scanning the streets, but his mind and emotions were so entrapped in his little brother's words, that he didn't pay much mind to the surrounding restaurants.

"I can't just stop, Sam." The older boy finally responded.

"I don't want that, Dean. I don't want you to ever – I mean if you did who would—I can't—

Sam released a sound that was far too fucking close to a sob for Dean's liking, and the teen immediately pulled the car over to the side of the road and reached out for his little brother.

Sam slid across the bench-seat, immediately curling into the long body behind the wheel.

"Hey, whoah, don't worry about that, kiddo. Alright? You never have to worry about any of that. I will always be here looking after you, Sammy. Always." Dean vowed, running a soothing hand up and down his brother's spine, his other hand tangled in the brown locks. The older boy placed a quick kiss atop Sam's shaggy mane, holding the young boy close as he fought to regain control of himself.

"I don't want you to stop, I just – I want you to be nicer to yourself." Sam croaked out, his words muffled as he spoke them into Dean's jacket.

The teen sighed, wishing Sam had given an easier order.

He was hard on himself sometimes, he knew that, but he needed to be.

He needed to demand more from himself, because he needed to be better for his little brother.

He needed to do better at taking care of Sam, and ensuring that the kid had everything he needed.

And if that meant that Dean had to give a little more or take on more responsibility than that was what he would do.

But he also couldn't tell Sam to act his age if he wasn't able to do the same.

He needed to try and lighten up a little.

He needed to maintain the level of responsibility, but release some of the guilt.

It wouldn't be easy and went against his nature, but he needed to try.

He needed to try for Sam.

"Alright, kiddo. I'll try, I promise. But only if you try to be a kid once and awhile." Dean bargained gruffly.

He felt the shaggy head nod against his chest, and combed his fingers approvingly through the mess of brown hair before softly squeezing the back of his little brother's neck.

"You're such a weepy bitch." Dean mumbled fondly in his little brother's shaggy locks.

"And you're a rude jerk." Sam responded through a wet chuckle.

Dean grinned, hearing the grin in his kid's voice.

There was nothing better than Sammy's smile.

Change wouldn't come easy to either brother, both of them set in their ways, but they would try.

They would try for each other.

Success or failure, they would put the effort in for one another.

They would do their best to ease the other's worries.

They would be better for each other.

Because while Dean wasn't certain of his ability to change, he was confident in a promise made between him and Sam.

He knew that he would try for his little brother, and Sam would try for him.

And he knew that no matter what, they would be there for each other.

The two of them may not have ever had much, but they have always had that one thing.

That one thing that they could always depend on.

That one thing that kept them trying.

That one thing that made them whole.

That one thing they needed most.

Each other.

* * *

Note: Long chapter, eh?! I try ;) I really hope some of you enjoyed it and I will be replying to the most recent comments at some point this weekend. Thank you so much to those who helped me discover some of my writing strengths, I really appreciate your help! Thanks for reading! Please comment/review if you have a moment. - Sam

\- oh and for those who were wondering, I am working on the next chapter of _A New Kind of Evil,_ but I have to edit that fic first...so it might be awhile, because you all know how I feel about editing... ;)


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